


Ever a Kneeler

by unwindmyself



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Innuendo, PWP without Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Postcoital banter  in a wintry cave that leads to precoital banter and then more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever a Kneeler

Ygritte looks over at Jon, her eyebrow arched.  “You don’t tire easily, do you?” she coos.  “They instill this work ethic in you ‘mongst the crows?”

He sprawls more against the pile of their clothes, shaking his head and trying not to smile.  “I don’t think I learned _any_ of this at the Wall,” he mumbles.

“No,” she teases.  “I guess they wouldn’t have taught _this_.”  She rises and begins to pace the area, giving him a look like he’s the most ridiculous person in the whole of the north.

“Come back,” he exclaims, laughing hollowly.  “I thought we were keeping each other warm.”

“What, you think I’m too fragile for the elements?” she laughs.  “I’ve been naked in the ice before, Jon Snow.  It won’t hurt me.”

This line of argument won’t succeed, he’s realizing, so instead, he clambers to his feet.  “Would you have me believe you like my tirelessness?” he asks in a low voice.

“You shouldn’t need to ask,” she replies archly.

“There is no winning with you,” he sighs affectionately.

Somehow it’s the little things that set her off without warning.  Her smile is practically predatory, teeth bared like an animal; there’s a deceptively innocent spring in her step as she bounds over to him.  “Well, haven’t you ever been told that women like to change their minds?” she about sings, all sarcasm.

“You aren’t a regular woman,” he replies, feeling his heart in his throat.

“Mm, but there you are tryin’ to win me over with flattery like you might a regular woman against your own better judgment,” Ygritte giggles, draping an arm around Jon’s shoulders.  She stands on her toes to whisper the next in his ear.  “But you know nothing, Jon Snow.  You’ve already won.  We _both_ have.”

That falls over him, seeming to echo even though it couldn’t possibly, and before he can think twice or let his guilt overwhelm him, he pulls her close and kisses her passionately.

“You’re practically frozen,” he says.

“Then warm me up,” she declares.  It’s practically a command.

He goes to the pile of clothes, but she beats him to it, furrowing around and then emerging with Jon’s black cloak in her hands.  She fastens it around her shoulders and breasts, then watches for reactions – a telling flush, rapidly blinking eyes, some horror that she’s somehow defiling it – but all he does is move to lift her up, hold her with legs around his waist, and carry her to a nearby rock.

He deposits her here, sinks to his knees, and spreads hers; she just beams at him.

“My sweet boy,” she murmurs, threading a hand through his hair.  “Ever a kneeler.”

As his face is already between her legs, the only response is a pleased, muffled hum.


End file.
